


The Golden King

by motomoyo



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Fíli and Kíli Live, M/M, No Additional Character Deaths Aside From Thorin, Sibling Incest, Tags May Change, Thorin Dies, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress, post-BotFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motomoyo/pseuds/motomoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very much a Work In Progress. </p><p>Fíli and Kíli survive the battle, but now find themselves pushed into a new role of King and Heir of a Kingdom they have no idea how to fix.</p><p>New threats loom while their relationship unfolds as they take comfort in one another; there are always those who will try to test the mettle of a young and untested leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smaug's Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking the ending of BotFA and running with it!
> 
> Update schedule will hopefully be 1 chapter a week.
> 
> Tumblr: http://prince-of-erebor.tumblr.com/

The battle was over, and the crows had feasted.

The dwarves, elves, and men had worked tirelessly to collect their dead, and many stood vigil over the corpses at night, burning fires that that the tenders kept burning night and day. The flames kept all but the bravest of the crows away, and the tireless tenders kept the rest at bay.

Even the crows mostly left the orcs alone, and those bodies were burned in a pyre.

No one knew what to do with the dragon’s corpse. Some had tried to move it, but it was too heavy; they had tried to quarter it, but no blade could crack through the scales and the great beast had filled most with a sense of unease, even dead. They had tried to burn it, but no matter how hot the fires burned it only gleamed in the light and managed to look alive in the glimmering firelight. It still lay where it had fallen, scales and hide sinking and starting to fall from the bones.

Laketown was ruined, the men and women outcasts. For now, they had been allowed refuge in the mountain, though supplies ran low. Tensions ran on both sides, but for now survival was more important than grudges.

Thorin had been brought back to the mountain, and the funeral procession was a long and solemn affair. Dwalin had stood vigil, silent and unyielding, and when they finally sealed the tomb and etched the tomb the air in the entire mountain seemed to hang heavy with grief. Even some of the men and elves had come to pay respects.

Fíli and Kíli were brought back on the edge of death and life, struggling with every breath. Healers had worked day night – elf and dwarf – and they had almost lost the older of the two several times. Kíli had woken first, and they had found him on the floor struggling to get up, half panicked and all resolve. “ _Where is my brother?”_

It took both Dwalin and Dáin to get him back in bed – fond, exasperated, “Y _ou’ll rip your stitches and hurt yourself worse, you stubborn fool” -_ even injured as he was; he only settled once they told him Fíli was still alive. They moved him to the same room that evening.

It took another three days for Fíli to open his eyes.

 

Fíli’s shoulder _ached_.

The sunlight spilled into the room from where the dragon had smashed through, cracking around ruined pillars and broken stone and filtering through dust and dirt. The damage to the mountain was terrible, and it filled his soul with a deep, distressed dread; he was supposed to rule here, and to fix all of this. Make it theirs again.

He still didn’t know how he had survived. The others had told him of the fall, which should have been enough to kill him alone. He had awoken days later, wrapped in bandages and screaming in pain; someone – he still didn’t know who – forced a cup to his lips and liquid down his throat, and then the agony receded into something less, and then the sweet blackness of a dreamless sleep.

And so it went, and he didn’t know how long. He had never asked. He didn’t want to know.

He had never had to ask for Kíli; when he woke with the pain manageable, his brother was sprawled asleep in a chair next to his bedside, spilled over the chair in a loose jumble of limbs, hair loose and everywhere. His fingers, relaxed with sleep, were still tangled in Fíli’s. The golden prince – for he still thought he was a prince, then – had been inclined to let him sleep, but something stirred his brother’s eyes open.

He had never seen such a cascade of emotion in his brother. Relief tumbled into joy, joy into pain, pain into a sharply exhaled, “ _Fíli_ ,” as he jolted upright, pressing his forehead against Fíli’s and fought tears. Fíli was too weak to do much aside from squeeze his hand, but the worst was over: they had survived. Would survive. They had climbed through the blackness and come out on the other side, not without scars. But alive.

 _Alive_.

But then those next words came; Kíli, still fighting tears and mostly succeeding, had fiercely squeezed his hand. “You’re the king now,” he had whispered, voice raw and hoarse. “Thorin is… Thorin…”

Kíli didn’t have to finish. Fíli felt like he had been punched – _a different kind of pain, a raw pain in the heart that swelled into his throat and chest -_ and he had closed his eyes again and squeezed Kíli’s hand so hard that he had caused the younger’s hand to ache, but his brother hadn’t made a sound in complaint. They had stayed like that, in silence, in grief.

And here he was, finally up on his feet again with a crown on his head that felt heavier than any sword he had lifted. His uncle – _damn you Thorin,_ damn _you, this was your quest, your responsibility, not mine_ – was dead, and he had missed the funeral in his healing.

 _Mahal_ , his shoulder ached.

The coronation had come as soon as he could stand and move of his own accord, and it was a solemn and serious affair. This damned crown was never meant to be his, and he didn’t want it. He could feel the other dwarves’ eyes on him: _will he be another to fall prey to the Durin’s madness?_

Footsteps came up behind him, and he didn’t have to turn to see who it was. “Nadad,” the other whispered, the word quiet and heavy.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, voice sounding weaker than he intended. Lost. Not a lion, but a mewling kitten separated from his mother.

Even Kíli bore a weight that looked out of place on him; it left a dull ache in Fíli’s bones when he looked into his brother’s eyes, for they were distant and haunted and reflected the morning light.

“From the beginning,” Kíli sighed. “That’s all we can do.”

Fíli made a quiet, thoughtful sound in his throat. “Walk with me,” he said, low, and Kíli didn’t say a word, though he followed along beside him as he made his way out of the hall. Both walked stiffly; Fíli still had a stubborn limp, and Kíli walked with a slow, deliberate pace.

After a few moments in silence, Fíli couldn’t help a short snort.

“We make a pair, don’t we.”

Kíli didn’t understand at first, and his brows knitted in that questioning way of his; almost immediately after, though, he gave a wry smile. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Something about the way Kíli said it – that tired way that was trying so hard to dig at humor – made Fíli feel pained. He pushed a smile through, scarce. “You can let me have some things all to myself, brother. I won’t get upset.”

Kíli snorted, but lapsed into silence as they walked. Their footsteps echoed through the hall, and their distorted reflection flickered back at them through the melted gold. Fíli could swear he could still feel the heat of it burning through his boots, but – as he’d tried the first day he’d been well enough to walk - if he laid a hand on it the gold was cold as ice.

It was a long time before he spoke. “This is going to take months to fix. Years.”

Kíli started a little at the sudden voice beside him, as though he had been lost in his own thoughts. “We have time. No one’s expecting this tomorrow.”

“But everything’s so _broken_. The halls, the armory is a disaster, there are –there are still _bodies_ , Kíli, _bodies_ in the cellars, and the forges—“

“It will all be fixed. You can do it. I know you can.”

The look Kíli fixed upon him with those words – so earnest, so _believing_ , so unwilling to even entertain the idea that their uncle had left them with such a monstrous task that Fíli didn’t even know where to begin to fix it – was almost convincing enough to make Fíli believe it.

Instead, though, he sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Kíli sent a brighter smile to him, and they continued walking, but he went quiet. Their footsteps echoed. “Fíli?”

Fíli raised his brows, trying to pull himself out of his muddled thoughts. “Mmn?”

The look Kíli have him, though, that soul-searching, wrinkled-brow look – that made his stomach tighten, and for a reason he couldn’t rightly explain. “I was just thinking—“

“Fíli!”

A gruff voice interrupted Kíli, and they both started and turned. Dwalin stalked toward them, a storm lingering in his eyes. “Boy, you’re hard to find,” he grumbled. “You’re needed.”

Fíli felt caught, stuck in place. “Needed? For what?”

“You’re a king now, lad. There’s an audience.”

Kíli looked bothered, and Fíli reached a hand out – _damn_ this shoulder – and squeezed Kíli’s arm. “Later,” he murmured, and then turned to exit the hall, trying to stand straight and force down the flicker of pain that still lingered _everywhere_. He barely caught his brother’s sigh and echoed, “Later,” in something that was both agreement and not.

Behind them, as they left, the hall stood unattended. A relic of a time long past, where whispers of dwarven life still echoed in the very stones. The golden floor glimmered, and, unbidden, a bird flittered in through the broken walls. It lit delicately upon a precarious perch on a broken pillar now ruined by dragon wings, and a stone crumbled, tumbled, crashed into broken pebbles onto a sea of gold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, have some Fili/Kili first-time fluff.
> 
> Tumblr: http://prince-of-erebor.tumblr.com/

When they arrived at the Royal Hall, there were so many people _waiting_ , both men and dwarves, and Fíli felt a rush of embarrassment; he should have been here earlier. Their eyes on him were tired, impatient, and he straightened his shoulders and walked through the middle of them to the throne that should have been his uncle’s. He could hear his brother muttering under his breath beside him, but he couldn’t reach over, not with everyone watching.

The meetings felt endless. None of them were trivial – there were quite a few concerns about food, space, sleeping quarters, and many more concerns about minor disagreements and scuffles between each other. Some just wanted to pay their respects to the new king, and many, he felt, just wanted to get a proper look at him.

The throne was hard and uncomfortable, and the stiff clothes itched. All of the company he had chosen to stand with him up here – Dwalin, Balin, Kíli, Dori, Oin, Gloin – stood with varying degrees of patience, and time felt like it stretched on and on. He could _feel_ some of them questioning some of his decisions – like when he had given Thranduil the jewels he had been seeking – and it was wearing, tiring.

When at last it was finished, Fíli rose and excused himself, feeling weary down to the bones despite the fact that he hadn’t done much aside from sit still for hours. Somehow, that felt like it wore on him more than running across fields dodging orc arrows.

He could feel Kíli’s eyes on him as he stood, but Balin caught his arm before he could turn to his brother, and he allowed himself to be directed. The older dwarf looked more tired than he felt, and he suddenly felt guilty. “What is it?”

“Ered Luin waits for word from you.” The old dwarf sighed. “Your mother, especially.”

“Then write them, send a raven.”

Balin’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t look unsympathetic. “They need to hear from _you_ , laddie. Go on, this is your duty.”

 

**

 

Fíli’s hands had grown unaccustomed to writing.

Traveling for months, fighting and running, had numbed some of the skills that his mother had so painstakingly instilled in him from a young age.

_“Being able to write well is a strength for a king.”_

_“I won’t be a king, mother, Thorin will. And he’ll have sons.”_

_“Maybe so, but it is a skill you should have regardless. Stop complaining, you only have another hour.”_

She would box him upside the head if she could see him now. The page was smudged, the lines wobbly, and he felt like he had dripped more ink than had ended up on the paper. He had always hated those lessons; they’d made his head hurt and his hand numb, and it had been tedious work. Kíli had always had more of a mind for it; his brother had a beautiful, flowing handwriting that he took care in cultivating. Fíli would rather spend his time with swords and in training.

He sighed, lifting his hand and raking his hand back through his hair as he sat back. He was in his quarters, and the page was a message to be sent to his mother and the dwarves at Ered Luin, letting them know that the mountain still stood and they were welcome to come home. No matter how many times he tried, though, he couldn’t find words to tell them of Thorin’s death.

“That looks a mess,” a voice behind him said, and he startled, jerking a look back. Kíli was _smirking_ , damn it, and he hadn’t even heard the door open.

“You scared me,” he grumbled, plunking the quill in the inkwell.

“Couldn’t you have Balin do that?” Kíli peeled off his overcoat, dropping it over a chair.

Fíli pushed back from the table, getting up and stretching. His muscles pulled; many of them still ached. “He said I should do it. That it’s my responsibility.” He grimaced, taking a few steps back and sitting himself back on the edge of the bed, hands loose in his lap. “I feel like I’m just … it looks awful and reads worse.”

Kíli wandered to the table, leaning over it to read over the paper; his expression didn’t change, and he pushed back to wander back toward the bed, crawling over it to settle crosslegged behind him. “I’ll write it for you,” he said, not so much an offer as a decision, and set his hands on Fíli’s shoulders and squeezed, fingers working deeply into the muscles.

Before he could help himself, Fíli _groaned_ , leaning back into Kíli’s hands. “You can keep doing that,” he muttered muddily, allowing his eyes to close and his weight to sway with every press of his brother’s strong hands. Somewhere distantly in his mind: they hadn’t done this in so long. They used to be so close, before the trip, before the mountain. Inseparable. The trip had been so much about the end goal, the mountain, and _Thorin_ that they had forgotten how much the quiet times had meant.

Kíli made a low noise in his throat, letting his thumbs dig into the space between Fíli’s shoulderblades, drawing out another of those helpless sounds from the newly crowned King. “I miss things like this,” he said, low, and, though Fíli couldn’t see his face, the words sounded quiet and a little melancholy.

Fíli allowed himself to smile, fleetingly. “We have more time now.”

“I do. You don’t. You’re a king now.” The words were gently teasing, and Kíli’s hands slid down, rubbing the muscles on either side of his spine, and Fíli tensed, grimacing. That still stung more than it should – a harsh reminder that he was still healing.

Fíli started to say something, but somehow nothing seemed appropriate and the words stuck. Instead, he leaned back into the attention, hands still loose in his lap. Time stretched, and Kíli slid his hands back up to his brother’s shoulders. The touch felt… different, tentative, and that enough was enough to make Fíli start to half-turn. “Kíli?”

Kíli’s face startled him, though; he was so conflicted, his eyes down. “After what happened out there, after almost losing you…”

“Kíli…”

“If I don’t say something I’ll regret it forever.”

Fíli’s stomach fluttered, and he couldn’t have even pinpointed why. “What?”

Instead of answering, though, Kíli just reddened and used the hands on his shoulders to pull him back, and leaned in to press his lips against Fíli’s before he could protest. His lips were warm, the kiss gentle and easy.

Fíli’s first thought: _We haven’t kissed on the lips since we were children, why—_

His second, as his eyes bulged open: _This isn’t as brothers, this is—_

His third, guilty and shocked, as his eyes closed again: _This is… nice._

It lit something in him that he didn’t even know he wanted, something he didn’t even… he had never put much thought into relationships, dismissing them as something that would come along eventually, but he had so many other things to worry about, and…

…and somewhere along the line, Kíli had learned enough for both of them. The twinge of jealousy – _for who?_ – was surprising, and it finally kicked his brain out of passivity. His lips parted, and he felt more than heard the exhale of relief from his brother, who relaxed and slid his arms fully over his shoulders. The kiss deepened, a tongue tangling with his, and he felt a pleasant warmth sliding down his belly and into his groin. He could feel himself stiffening, a lazy sort of pleasant heat that he had almost forgotten how to feel.

The kiss was leisurely, lasting just long enough to make them both a little breathless, and Kíli’s eyes were instantly on his, worried and brows knitted just slightly – it was a silent question, unmistakable. Fíli’s hand had found its way to Kíli’s thigh; he didn’t even remember _moving_ it.

Fíli’s mind raced. This was his brother. His _little_ brother. He’d had some inkling, distant, that Kíli felt this way, and he couldn’t deny that he’d had thoughts that he’d firmly repressed years prior. And yet…

_And yet._

His mind may have raced, but the arms around him were grounding. He said nothing, and instead recaptured his brother’s lips, forcing thoughts into the back of his head and slipping back into the here and now. Kíli gasped into his mouth and then gave a tiny, helpless little groan into his mouth, which made his stomach flip. He felt his brother’s arms tighten around his chest, fingers splaying on his chest and sliding down his stomach, toward… toward…

Kíli’s palm pressed against the growing hardness in his trousers, a thumb tracing over it, and Fíli’s breath hitched against Kíli’s mouth and he pulled back from the kiss, fingers jerking over to curl around his wrist. “I—“

Kíli had stopped moving, but he didn’t withdraw. “All you have to say is no,” he said, soft and quiet, dark eyes meeting his. It struck him how earnest and open Kíli looked, how _nervous,_ his features so quietly serious. Fíli swallowed hard. They shouldn’t. They really, really shouldn’t. There were a million reasons why they shouldn’t, and a million reasons why he should get up and tell him to stop.

He wanted to say, _we can’t do this, this is wrong, this can only end in heartbreak and you know it_ , but instead his fingers eased and he relaxed back into his brother’s chest, and Kíli made another low, relieved sound and kissed his neck. His fingers worked to open Fíli’s belt, easily working it open one-handed, and he drew his cock out to start working it with skillful, squeezing strokes.

It didn’t take him long to figure out exactly what made Fíli squirm – _where did he learn to_ do _this?! –_ and he kissed and grazed his teeth over Fíli’s neck and ear, urging the shallow thrusts he made into his hand with quiet, encouraging noises. His other hand, his free hand, splayed on Fíli’s chest and kept him close.

It didn’t take long to have Fíli’s head falling back against his shoulder as a tortured sound as pure as prayer was pushed from his throat, and he felt like a million stars just exploded in his head as he came into his brother’s hand, shaft pulsing pleasantly and warmly against Kíli’s palm.

The younger of the pair murmured a pleased sound of encouragement, stroking him through the last remnants of his orgasm before turning him loose and wiping his hand clean on his pants – _messy, messy_ – before curling his arms back around him. “You looked like you needed that,” Kíli murmured against his ear, and Fíli could feel him pressed hard against his back, but he made no motion to indicate he expected anything.

Fíli gave a little grin, though, and shifted back against him just so, which made his brother’s fingers tighten and his breath to hitch at the friction. Fíli turned enough to press Kíli back against the bed, folding himself carefully down against his side and running his fingers down to fumble at his brother’s belt.

“You don’t have to,” Kíli breathed, but he laid with his arms loosely splayed on the bed and made no move to stop him; he stayed still, though, infinitely patient despite the irregularity of his breathing.

“Yes I do,” Fíli said, and leaned down to kiss his brother soundly on the lips before slipping a hand into his breeches. The thickness and warmth of his brother’s prick surprised him a little, but he curled his hand around it and started stroking while Kíli became unwound beside him, squirming and whimpering and gasping. His brother was so unashamed in his pleasure, noisy and full of motion and life, and when he finally came with Fíli’s wrist tiring and their lips together, Fíli had forgotten all about his pain and responsibility and doubts and fell into this wonderful world he had never truly considered exploring.

And then they lay still, still mostly clothed, and Fíli laid his head on his brother’s shoulder. They didn’t talk for a long time, and then Kíli took a breath. “I thought you would punch me,” he said finally, wondering.

Fíli gave a quiet laugh, and that somehow folded into something more – he hadn’t laughed in _so long_ , and that one small one felt like it ignited a spark of something in him. That one small laugh folded into laughter until he was shaking against his brother’s side, and that made Kíli lapse into helpless laughter as well until they were tangled with each other, breathless, and Fíli smiled, brighter. “Thank you,” he said, and Kíli reached up and tugged a braid, as he used to when they were younger.

They would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Dialogue. Sorry! More interesting stuff coming soon. 
> 
> Tumblr: http://prince-of-erebor.tumblr.com/

The next morning, Fili awoke slowly, and then with a start: _Mahal_ , it was _freezing_ in this room. Blearily, he half rolled over, mindful of the now-familiar twinges of pain along his ribs, and rook a fistful of the blankets to pull them back; they were stuck, though, and he muttered a curse under his breath and sat up to free them.

The sight, though, stilled him.

Kili lay, tangled tightly in the blankets – _his_ blankets – and was sleeping soundly curled up in their warmth. Memories of the previous night hit him, collided with every sense of right and wrong in his mind. Somewhere in the night – likely half asleep – they had peeled off the most of their clothes, though he was still wearing a shirt and smallclothes, and he couldn’t tell how much Kili still had on.

His blanket, and it was cold, damn it all.

Suppressing a shiver, he started to get up, though he was caught by the way his brother’s dark hair spilled loosely against the pale pillows, the way his features were relaxed and soft in sleep, and he felt a deep twinge of guilt knotted with affection.

He was pretty sure that last night had firmly cemented him in the annals of history of being one of the worst older brothers in history.

Kili made a quiet sound, stirring; he blearily cracked his eyes open, squinting up at Fili without otherwise moving. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, voice bleary with sleep.

Fili snorted, eyeing him. “You stole all the blankets, you imp.”

“I’ll show you an imp,” Kili happily mumbled, eyes drifting closed again; he pulled at the covers, yanked, tugged, until they became free enough to offer a corner of. “Come here, ‘m cold.”

Fili felt torn, and his shoulders pulled up, tense. “I don’t know if we should, Kili, this is—“

Kili’s eyes became sharper, and narrowed on Fili from his nest of blankets. He looked hurt, which only compounded the sense of guilt steadily boiling up in Fili’s belly. “This is what?”

“This is _wrong_ , what we did wasn’t—we’re _brothers_.”

Kili’s brows knit tightly, and he pushed himself up – he wasn’t wearing a shirt, though at least he was still in his underclothes. Fili had seen his body countless times before, but this time he couldn’t quite make himself look over; guilt and shame and the desire to take Kili into his arms were warring violently in his mind, and it didn’t help when Kili laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The voice came quiet from just behind his shoulder: “What do you _want_?”

“I –“ Frustration burned in Fili’s chest, and he curled his fingers together. “Mahal help me, I want _you_ , but I can’t, it wouldn’t be _right_ , it wouldn’t be—“

A ghost of a kiss against the back of his shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, it doesn’t matter. I want you, too. For so, so long, Fee.”

“Not that it stopped you from running around with someone else,” Fili uttered, and the bite of it surprised him; he had meant it to be teasing, but it carried a sour edge that made him immediately turn, grimacing. “I didn’t mean that.”

Kili looked stung, dark eyes a storm. “That’s not fair.”

Fili’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed any questions he had: he wanted to ask _who? Who did he find comfort with? Who did I fail to see?_ “I know,” he muttered instead. “I’m sorry.”

Kili’s features, though, took on a curious edge, and he leaned forward again. “Haven’t you? You can’t be telling me—“

“There was never enough _time_ , there was never enough—not with everything going on, not with training, not with making sure _you_ didn’t get in trouble—“

“You didn’t watch closely enough.” Kili’s eyes danced, his smile oh-so-delighted.

Fili shoved his arm, reddening. “Don’t give me that look,” he snapped, but it failed to carry any real bite, and Kili laughed. “Ow,” he protested with a quiet laugh, weight shifting with the shove, and he just curled his arms around the King’s shoulders and pulled him down and yanked the covers over them both despite the golden one’s verbal protests. His body, though, betrayed him, easily falling against Kili’s and relaxing against the warmth.

_When did his little brother get so much taller than he?_ He had noticed, of course, but never really _noticed_ until now, when Kili could prop himself up on an elbow and lean over, breath warm on his ear and sending tingles down his spine. Kili’s arm wound around him, loose, fingers toying lightly with the rough hair on his chest. “I know this isn’t normal,” the darker one murmured close to his ear, voice dipping back down into something more serious. “But, Fee, I’m just—I’m willing to try. If you are. I love you more than you know, and I tried, _tried_ to ignore it, but after… this, I just _can’t._ ”

Fili shivered, and ran a hand upward to tangle his fingers with Kili’s. His heart felt like it was beating too fast, and he felt himself falling, falling into sin.

The word was quiet, rough: “Okay.”

Kili grinned, scarce, against his shoulder, and squeezed his hand. “Okay,” he agreed softly, and then, after a heartbeat of quiet: “So you really have never…?”

Fili hit him with a pillow.

 

* 

 

The raven, one of three loosed with the message to Ered Luin, winged across the skies. It was growing tired and hungry, but the promise of destination kept the bird’s wings beating. It needed a rest, though; swooping low through a copse of trees, it lit on a branch, flapping and letting out a raucous caw.

The stone took it right below the breast, and it tumbled in a mess of midnight feathers, flapping feebly before it hit the ground, stirring up debris and loam and leaves.

A gloved hand reached, and soon after the bird knew only darkness.

 

“The dwarves have reclaimed the mountain,” the hooded one said as he strolled into the camp, gloved fingers holding up the roll of parchment. The camp’s firelight flickered and glinted off the mail and the hilts of weapons.

“I’d heard stories of the dragon’s wakening,” another said, holding bare hands up to the fire and rubbing them together.

The hooded one scowled, but stomped over to the fire, shoving the paper in his pocket. “They have some young buck as their King now. Oakenshield’s dead.” His words carried the heavy weight of implication, and he shrugged off his weapons and let them fall in a pile next to the fire.

Another, a woman clad in furs and leather, eyed the hooded man with a squint. “So what are you suggesting?”

The hooded one lowered himself down next to the fire, opening his pack and drawing out a scrawny rabbit and the raven he had shot down, tossing the bird over to the woman to pluck and skin, ignoring her sound of consternation for having another night of stringy game.

The hooded man just smiled, though, pulling out a skinning knife and started dressing the rabbit, tossing the inedibles to the handful of dogs that lurked around the edges of the fire.

“There has been a summons. Think they’ll pay a chunk of that gold for their mother?”


End file.
